


Inappropriate

by NadiaHart



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftercare, Belts, Blasphemy, Bondage and Discipline, Church Sex, Dom Castiel, Dom/sub, Hand Jobs, Light Bondage, M/M, Masturbation, Prayer, Priest Castiel, Priest Dean Winchester, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Restraints, Spanking, Sub Dean, Sub Dean Winchester, Team Dean's Red Ass, and spanking, used for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-04 20:02:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15154595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NadiaHart/pseuds/NadiaHart
Summary: Castiel has left a life of sin behind him. Turning towards the promise of structure, routine, and stability, Castiel hopes to find some kind of peace by dedicating his wayward life to God. He tends to his flock, offers guidance, or absolution to those who've lost their way like he had. And for the most part, it works. He's not had a dark urge in many years, and though he sometimes feels hollow inside, Castiel believes he is content. That is... until Dean Winchester gets reassigned to Castiel's little slice of heaven and brings his darkest desires rushing back to the surface.





	Inappropriate

**Author's Note:**

  * For [destimushi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/destimushi/gifts).



> I'd like to wish a very **Happy Birthday** to my good friend [@destimushi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/destimushi/works)
> 
> I remember many moons ago sending you the first two paragraphs of this out of the blue, and how you seemed to enjoy the premise. I hope you like the finished work. Happy birthday!
> 
>  
> 
> Many thanks to [Adaille](https://archiveofourown.org/users/adaille/works) from the [ProfoundBond](https://discord.gg/GGbw2NP) Discord server for jumping in and beta-ing this for me. (come join us!)
> 
>  
> 
> _**Please note** that I have no idea about religion aside from google tells me. Take everything you read from here on out with a grain of salt. I'm trash and this is all make believe...._
> 
>  
> 
> **Now, let us pray...**

Castiel drops roughly to his knees, the visage of the crucifix above him, looking down on him, heavy with the weight of his sins. It is his third moment of personal reflection and prayer in as many hours. His will is fading.

“Forgive me, Father…” He begins, his voice a low murmur. “It has been six months since you have presented this temptation before me. Six months of trial and tribulation. I have never been as close to transgression I as I am now.” The beads of his rosary slip between his shaking fingers. Slowly he touches the strand to his forehead and takes a trembling breath. The image of green eyes and a cocky smile fill his mind. “This task that you have given to me…. I am sure to fail.” His voice cracks in his throat. 

Castiel licks over his lips. “F––forgive me, as I forgive those who…” The prayer tumbles out of him as it has a hundred times before. He repeats it again and again until he feels himself slipping into a soft meditative state. The small stool under his knees is thickly cushioned and the back of the pew in front of him provides support for his heavy limbs. His momentary tranquility is short lived as the doors to the small rectory bang open and the source of his upheaval comes stumbling in.

Dean Winchester was reassigned to Castiel’s rural little Church for ‘ _ retraining _ ’ in the word of God, as his behavior as a man of the cloth has deteriorated since his last assignment in Las Vegas. The pull to sin is strong within Dean and piety does not come easy for him. Bishop Zachariah hoped that under Castiel’s iron will and firm guidance Dean could be brought back to the flock. However, it seems that Castiel is the one who has begun to waver. 

It’s been many years since Castiel hungered for the touch of flesh the way he does with Dean. The rosary bites into his palm, stone beads and metal links pinching against his skin as his hand contracts, and he watches Dean close and lock the door behind him. Dean sighs, swiping at his forehead, his bright green eyes landing on Castiel kneeling before the altar, and his smile spreads to something mischievous. Already he’s donning the cocky showman persona he seems to portray whenever he’s around others. 

He slides up beside Castiel, hip cocked out as he leans against the small pew, arms crossed. He’s not wearing his collar, and the short sleeves on his untucked shirt bares the toned and tanned skin of his arms to Castiel’s gaze. He can feel something in his chest crack and bleed open, washing him in red and white and he cannot fight the flood of arousal that infuses his limbs.

“Your attire is inappropriate.” Castiel grits out, tipping his head and bringing the rosary to touch between his brows.

“C’mon Cas, it’s pushing ninety degrees out there,” Dean says, running his hand through his hair, his rosary is wrapped around his wrist over and over again like some kind of trendy bracelet.

“What have you done to your rosary!” Castiel snaps, rocking back up to his feet. 

Dean shrugs and lifts his wrist, the little crucifix dangling under his palm, his smile cocky like it was his plan to upset Castiel all along. He licks his lips, a slow drag of his tongue along the plump curve of his lower lip, as he looks at Castiel from under his lashes, smirking, a flash of white teeth. 

Again the cresting wave crashes over Castiel leaving him awash in unwelcome emotions, hot and cold; his muscles twitch and he strains to remain stationary. Six months of this.  _ Six months _ of being pushed to the edges of control. His fingers twitch, and for the briefest moment, he looks to the large cross hanging at the front of the room, praying, hoping for a sign, for something to help him reel back in and…

“Chill out, Cas,” Dean says and the pew that is separating them creaks as he leans more of his weight on it. Shaking his head Castiel looks down and sees the boots. He had a long detailed talk on more than one occasion with Dean about how his attire reflects the church and how it helps keep them in the correct mindset for the work they do. It’s a reminder of their calling, and Dean could use reminding. 

Before he realizes what he’s doing, Castiel has leaped over the small pew and grabbed Dean by the back of his neck, his fingers curling, demanding against the sweaty flesh. Dean gasps, bending at the waist as Castiel drags him towards the small altar. 

“Your attire is inappropriate…” Cas snarls, his lips brushing the shell of Dean’s ear, and to his surprise Dean gasps, the noise soft in his throat.

“Cas…” he breathes.

“Your attitude is inappropriate,” Castiel continues as he reaches the small table, and with a  flick of his wrist, he whips the decorative cloth from its surface. His smile grows wicked as he shoves Dean belly first against the table. It’s sturdy, solid wood, and bears his weight easily. 

“I’ve been too lenient with you, obviously,” Castiel says as he kicks Deans feet apart. Holding him down roughly by the neck he reaches around and gropes for his belt. Dean bucks up but Castiel is ready and presses forward with his hips, biting his lip as the plush curve of Dean’s ass fits perfectly into the cradle of his hips. Refocusing, Castiel growls, throwing his weight behind his arm and shoving Dean back down to the table. 

“Be a good boy, now,” Castiel rumbles, finally dragging the belt free from Dean’s dress pants. It cracks wildly in the air as Castiel flicks his wrist. Dean shivers, his mouth gaping as he gulps each breath, eyes wide.

“Cas, Cas….” he pants, and he is lovely in his apprehension. 

Castiel adjusts his hold, sliding his palm down the center of Dean’s back, reveling in the way his body trembles. 

“Hands,” he commands, and Dean flinches.

“Wh..what? What!”

“Give me your hands, Dean,” Cas snarls, annunciating each word, leaning over Dean’s body to speak directly into his ear. “Now,” he growls.

Dean arches, his hands flying to cross one wrist over the other at the small of his back, and that makes Castiel pause for a moment. It’s a perfect submissive  _ wait _ position, his palms up, fingers spread slightly, and not for the first time Castiel wonders about Dean’s past. Carefully he removes the rosary from Dean’s wrist and drops it on the table by his face.

“Keep your eyes open,” Castiel commands, wrapping Dean’s crossed wrists tightly in his belt, and he watches greedily as Dean blinks, huffs a hot breath out past his moist lips, and then strains against the binding. “You must pay penance for your sins, Dean,” Castiel says, his hands again slipping around the wide, strong curve of Dean’s hips, finding the button at the front of his slacks and popping it. 

“Please… Cas…” Dean breathes, his legs tremble, and Castiel isn’t sure if he’s asking for more or less. 

“Fear not, Dean. All will be forgiven.” Castiel croons, as he pulls Dean’s pants and boxers down in one swift motion. “All will be forgiven,” he says, gently petting the curve of Dean’s backside. 

“This is my fault.” Castiel continues, as he steps back slightly, gripping Dean’s bound wrists in one hand, and undoing the buckle of his own belt with the other. “I should have been firmer with you from the beginning.” Castiel kicks at Dean’s heels, forcing him to take a wider stance, spreading his thighs so that the soft swell of his balls is clearly visible between them. “I’ll be more clear about my expectations from now on.”

“Cas…”

“Hush now, Dean,” Castiel says softly, looping his belt so that he’s holding the end and the buckle before leaning over Dean again and showing him the dark, shiny leather. “Begin your confession.” 

“F––Forgive me…” Dean stammers, his hips arching as he licks his lips, eyes flicking back to try and see Castiel. 

Dark pleasure curls in Castiel’s gut at the sight, and it’s good. It’s intoxicating. To reach into this part of himself again, to have someone under his control, to finally bring  _ Dean _ to heel. The power is heady and it sings through his blood, ignites the shadowy parts of his soul with fire. It burns through him, cleansing and worrying. Castiel remembers why he turned away from this, his breath catches in his throat, in a moment of shocked clarity; at his own behavior, at how quickly he succumbed. He is about to release Dean when the man speaks:  

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned…” he gasps out, lips shiny, cheeks flushed and Castiel plummets back into his headspace.

“Yes, you have sinned, haven’t you, Dean?”

“Yes.” Dean moans, his eyes fluttering closed. The confession sends shock spiking through Castiel’s body. He didn’t expect Dean to cave so easily. 

“You want me to cleanse you? Don’t you?”

“Yes, fuck…” Dean breathes roughly, arching his neck to look over his shoulder at Castiel. “Save me Father…” he purrs, a cocky little smirk lifting the corner of his mouth.

“You….” Castiel growls, lips lifting in a sneer, he presses Dean’s head back down to the table as he hisses. “Pray for your salvation.” 

The first crack of the belt has Dean’s body going rigid, his fingers tense and curl against his palm but he doesn’t cry out, he doesn’t make any sound except for a rough exhale. The hairs on Castiel’s arms raise at Dean’s soft reaction, at the perfect way Dean’s eyes go wide and he bites his bottom lip. Castiel sets the belt down next to Dean’s hip and steps back. He needs to take a breath. He needs control. His former life is rushing to the surface too quickly. 

Slowly Castiel unbuttons his wrist cuffs and fastidiously rolls his shirt sleeves up to his elbows. The welt on Dean’s ass is rising beautiful and red, slightly edged in white, and Castiel craves more of them. He snatches up the belt and Dean’s flinch makes Castiel’s stomach clench with power.

“Dean…” Castiel warns, bringing the belt down hard on the other cheek, Dean grunts eyes squeezing closed before opening again. “Pray.”

“Hail…H... Hail Mary…” Castiel drops the belt twice more, the leather cracking loudly against Dean’s skin, and Dean squirms, his hands flexing, knees trembling. “Hail Mary, full of grace; The L… L…” 

_ Whack _

_ Whack _

_ Whack _

“I can’t hear you, Dean.”

“The Lord is with thee…” Dean chokes out.

“Good boy,” Castiel praises, stroking his fingertips over the seam of Dean’s ass, trickling them over his perineum towards his balls. “Keep going.” 

“B...blessed art thou among women, and… and blessed is… is the fruit of thy w–womb,  _ Jesus _ .” Dean moans the last word as Castiel’s fingers slip passed his balls and grip the base of his hard cock. 

“Ah, I see this is having an effect on you. But is it the right one?” Castiel hums thoughtfully, playfully. His fingers curl around the substantial weight of Dean’s cock and strokes it, root to tip.

“Please, please, please.” Dean breathes, legs shaking, hips tilting.

All at once Castiel steps back, pulling the heat of his body from Dean, to close his eyes as Dean’s whine–a low breathy complaint–becomes a physical caress against Castiel’s ego. It sings inside of Castiel, resonating in his chest and calling to the Dominant side he’s been suppressing for years.

“Oh, my sweet,” he says, stepping back in and flexing his fingers around the belt in his grip. “You know what you need to do.”

Dean licks his lips, eyes flicking back and forth; he drops his cheek to the table and breathes out, his body going lax, his shoulders dropping as he submits fully. 

“Oh, good boy,” Castiel praises and there is a soft hitch in Dean’s breathing.

“Holy Mary,”

_ Whack _

“...Mother of God,”

_ Whack  _

“...pray for us” 

_ Whack _

“...s–s–sinners,”

_ Whack  _

“...n–now and at the hour of our death.”

_ Whack _

“Amen.” Castiel croons softly.

“A–Amen” Dean hiccups.

“Good. Again,” Castiel demands and Dean licks his lips, hips shifting.

“Hail Mary…full of grace….”

Castiel sets up an even rhythm, his body damp with sweat as Dean’s voice breaks and cracks like the leather beating against his backside. They go through the prayer again, and again, and again. The sounds of Castiel’s breath, his exertion, the fall of the belt, all sets a soothing pattern to Dean’s words, and Castiel loses time to the repetition of it.

On every Amen, Castiel says it with Dean, their voices blending, cementing Dean’s plea and washing them both clean. Each time they reach the end, each Amen they whisper into the otherwise quiet rectory, Castiel reaches between Dean’s legs and strokes his cock, layers him with praise. He takes a moment to let Dean’s heart rate slow as he tells him how well he’s doing and how proud Castiel is of him.

“So strong, Dean. So good.”

“Please…” Dean breathes, his shirt soaked in sweat, and his hair matted to his brow.

“Do you deserve salvation? Absolution?” Castiel asks, his free hand stroking over the hot, red flesh of Dean’s backside. “Are you forgiven?” His own cock is hard and aching in his slacks, and he gives in to the temptation to touch himself as he waits for Dean’s answer.

“Yes,” Dean says, finally. “Father…”

“Yes, Dean.” Castiel agrees, stepping forward and dropping the belt on the table next to Dean’s shoulder. “You are forgiven.” 

The soft sob that erupts from Dean’s mouth is better than any caress. Castiel feels saved right along with him. “You are forgiven. My good boy,” Castiel whispers as he drapes his body over Dean’s, the table creaking for the first time with their combined weight. Dean hisses as Castiel’s slacks come in contact with his abused backside, but with sure strong fingers Castiel turns that hiss into a moan as he wraps them around Dean’s length. 

It doesn’t take much before Dean’s cock is leaking, hard and hot in Castiel’s hand, and with a few firm strokes Dean is gasping, spilling over Castiel’s fingers. His body going soft, pliant as he exhales, boneless with his orgasm. 

“There we go,” Castiel whispers as he lifts off of Dean, and then immediately catches him as the man slumps to his knees, careful of his abused backside. “How do you feel now?”

Dean looks at him with glazed soft eyes, all the bravado from their weeks together replaced by a supple easiness. He looks like a completely different person, relaxed and comfortable in his own skin for the first time. 

“Good,” Dean croaks, licking at his lips to get the moisture flowing again. “Better.” 

“Excellent, can you stand?” Castiel asks as he removes the belt from around Dean’s wrists and rubs the soft skin down through to his calloused palms to get the blood flowing again. 

“Y–yes, Sir….” Dean says, eyes glazed as he rolls his wrists and flexes his fingers. Castiel bites down on the moan Dean’s slip up threatens to pull from him.

With care, Castiel helps Dean to his feet before bending and pulling his pants and boxers back up. Dean grips Castiel’s shoulders, his fingers digging in painfully as the fabric settles over his inflamed backside. “I have some cream in the bathroom that should help with the pain and swelling.”

“What about you?” Dean asks suddenly.

“Whatever do you mean?” Castiel blinks at him as he gestures to Castiel’s erection straining against the front of his slacks. “Oh, no, thank you though, I have indulged far too much already. Come, let’s get some cream on you.”

The walk to the small rectory’s bathroom is slow. Dean limps, favoring one side over the other, as he leans against Castiel’s for support, shy and subdued. Castiel tries to focus not on the warmth a limping, content sub brings him, but on breathing through his arousal. By the time Dean is leaning over the sink presenting his bottom Castiel is mostly in control again–until Dean groans. His back bows, the heated flesh of his beautiful ass pressing up against Castiel’s cream slick hand. 

“God, that feels good,” he moans, head rolling back on his shoulders, and arousal spikes sharp and hot through Castiel again. Dean’s face is so relaxed, his reflection in the bathroom mirror is peaceful as Castiel cares for him.

“Dean… Can I?” Castiel asks, his free hand playing with the button of his slacks as he presses his hips against Dean’s side. “May ...I….”

“Yeah,” Dean smirks, but it’s different, it’s soft, almost shy. “Do it, come on.”

Castiel rushes to pull his cock out groaning low as the cool air hits his hard length, hissing with the first stroke of his palm. Dean whimpers, biting his lips as he watches Castiel in the mirror. 

“Come on me?” Dean breathes, his brows lifting as he tilts his hips up in offering.

“Oh… Father forgive me.” Castiel curses, stepping behind Dean and brushing the head of his cock against the hot flesh of Dean’s ass as his hand strips his cock, pleasure spiking hard and fast through his nerve endings. His orgasm rushes up inside of him, choking a groan off in his throat as he comes in thick white stripes over Dean’s backside, the other man hissing and flinching as it stings him. 

“Dean…” Castiel moans unable to look away from his spend dripping over Dean’s skin.

“If I was younger…” Dean says with a soft laugh. “I’d be getting hard again from your oh-face alone.”

Castiel meets his eye in the mirror and blushes. Reaching out, Castiel snaps the small hand towel off the rack and bends around Dean to wet it. As softly as he can he cleans Dean’s ass and reapplies the cream over the welts, his arms shaking, his body unused to that kind of exertion, that level of pleasure.

Once he’s satisfied that there will be no permanent damage, Castiel redresses Dean and buttons up his own slacks again, clearing his throat. 

“Tomorrow you will take confessions” Castiel states, adjusting his collar and secretly enjoying the gaping look Dean is giving him.

“But…. that means I have to sit. All day!” Dean exclaims “On a hard bench!  _ All Day _ _!_ ”

Castiel cups his beautiful face, gently patting his cheek. “Yes, and what wonderful penance, and consistent reminder of your inappropriate behavior that will be.” He says leaving Dean, mouth slack in shock, in the rectory bathroom, a slow curl of pleasure blossoming in his stomach at the indignant noise Dean makes. 

**Author's Note:**

> So that's it! Thank you so much for reading this utter depravity. This complete blasphemy and for helping me celebrate the queen of debauchery, destimushi's, birthday. 
> 
>  
> 
> _Comments and Kudos activate my praise kink._


End file.
